


Sunday's Best

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: Of all the things she’d never expected, that he’d wear a cravat and a tailcoat to their wedding was definitely up there.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 27





	Sunday's Best

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: n/a  
> A/N: For frangipanidownunder, who gave me the prompt "cravat".

Of all the things she’d never expected, that he’d wear a cravat and a tailcoat to their wedding was definitely up there. But there he was, his hands roaming over her as she tugged at the knot and let the silk slip from around his throat. She’d already pushed the coat impatiently off his shoulders, but God, there was still the vest and the shirt to deal with. The feeling of the silk sliding through her fingers was half-hypnotic. She looped it loosely around the back of his neck and held onto each end as she drew him down for a kiss. His hands trembled on her hips as she opened her mouth against his. She was glad she’d opted for a dress with a zipper. Neither of them could have managed any number of tiny buttons at this point. As it was, she wasn’t even sure if she’d get out of the dress before they gave in to the lure of consummating the marriage.

She kissed her way across the plane of his cheek to his ear. “I want to tie you up,” she whispered. 

“I thought you already tied me down,” he teased, but his hips bumped against hers. His hands slipped lower, slowly gathering the fabric of her skirt until he could get his hand under the hem and stroke her. She was wet already at the thought of binding him, literally and metaphorically. His fingers moved in practiced patterns over her clit as he kissed her again and again, deeper and deeper. She let him touch her until her knees were shaking and her forehead was pressed against his chest. 

She didn’t get out of the dress. He didn’t get out of the vest. She bound his wrists to the headboard, straddling him with her skirt rucked up her thighs, and undid his buttons on her way down his body, so that he was sprawled under her with his chest bare and his pants still on, the open zipper gaping around the stiff salute of his erection. She rode him, made him watch him touch herself since she couldn’t, the silk pulling taut as he strained and the satin of her skirt billowing around them. There was something about having him half-helpless under her that made her wild. She squeezed her tits through the stiff fabric of her bodice and ground down on the damp silk of his boxers and came hard, clutching at him with her knees. 

“I didn’t know neckwear had such an effect on you,” he said when she’d collapsed beside him. 

“Neither did I,” she said, licking at his nipple just to watch him squirm. “But now we know.”

“Let me know if you’re going to church next Sunday,” he said. “I’ll make sure my suit is ready.”

“Fuck me,” she said, seized by another wave of lust, and he chuckled.


End file.
